


Protection

by panchostokes (badwolfrun)



Series: Prompt Fics [7]
Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Episode: s02e19 Stalker, Gen, M/M, Stalker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 05:02:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21350665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolfrun/pseuds/panchostokes
Summary: for the prompt, "you don't need to protect me."
Relationships: Warrick Brown & Nick Stokes, Warrick Brown/Nick Stokes
Series: Prompt Fics [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1540795
Comments: 7
Kudos: 26





	Protection

**Author's Note:**

> I do not write enough Stalker-based fic…

“Mr. Stokes, what can you tell us about Nigel Crane?”

“How long did he live in your attic?”

“Is it true that he made video tapes of his victims sleeping?” 

“At what point did you realize you were getting stalked?”

He’s getting dizzy, blinded by the camera flashes, the weight of the questions flying around his head don’t even register as he holds up a feeble, shaking hand, _please, no more, I just want to sleep, _he pleas with the flock surrounding him. He falls to the ground, feeling somehow smaller, shoved under yet another microscope, though the eyes that watch him don’t know him. 

Not like Nigel did.

And the admittance to that fact is what scares him more than the watchful, insensitive eyes of the creatures that loom above him. He somehow feels lonelier than ever before.

“Hey, police! Back off, _now!” _a voice barks, and the crowd scatters around him. A tall man holds out a hand for him to hold onto, lifts him off the ground. He blinks a few times before he registers the identity of this stranger, taking far too long to realize it’s not a stranger at all.

“Thanks…” he mutters to Warrick, avoids eye contact with the man as he rubs the arm that he had landed on in his fall. Warrick holds his body up from falling again, as they walk towards Nick’s house.

“That’s what friends are for, bro.” 

He freezes, and Warrick morphs right in front of him into a distorted, foggy version of a cable guy who’s berating him for not being a good enough friend. 

_Manners, Nick! Manners!_

“You don’t need to protect me,” Nick snaps as he bursts through the figurative cloud, swiping his body away from Warrick’s grasp, though he underestimates the firmness of Warrick’s hold on him, falls to the ground as he breaks away with rough effort. 

“I know,” Warrick sneers flippantly. “Which is why I keep picking your ass off the ground. C’mon. You’re not sleeping here tonight.”

“It’s my _house!” _Nick protests as Warrick picks him up again. He starts walking towards the door.

“It’s a _crime scene!” _Warrick cuts in front of him, waggles the crime scene tape at his door with his finger. He speaks slowly, forces eye contact with Nick. “You are not sleeping here for a while, buddy.” 

Nick’s chin wobbles under a tight frown, he blinks out frustrated tears. He just wants to _sleep._

“Now, I’mma go in there, grab your meds, a change of clothes, and then you’re gonna come over to my place, okay?”

“I can go in–”

“No, Nick. You _can’t. _Just…” Warrick stammers for the words, to explain to a concussed, disoriented Nick Stokes why he can’t allow the already tainted image of his home sanctuary to replaced with one of the horror they’re used to seeing as part of their _job._

The job, that Warrick failed to do. 

Keep Stokes safe.

He puts his hands on Nick’s shoulders, presses down, as if it would somehow plant him to the ground. Nick is still dazed, motionless, like a tree.

“Just…_stay here_.”

Warrick takes a deep breath and ducks under the tape, throws on his CSI persona in effort to dull the sting of walking through Nick’s house, carefully avoiding evidence markers and the large rug stained with blood.

Though he knew better, he couldn’t help but glance back at Nick to make sure he didn’t pass out from blood loss. He shook his head, _no, Rick, it’s not my blood. _

But the lost, broken look on Nick’s face only serves to drive the knife further through his heart.

He continues on into Nick’s bedroom, opens his dresser, searching for a comfortable shirt and pants. He digs a little, vaguely wonders if Nick owns a pair of sweatpants, if he even knows the definition of comfort.

“He watched me sleep.” Nick’s voice suddenly echoes behind him, causing Warrick to jump out of his skin. He spins around wildly, and Nick is standing in the doorway, still slumping, not looking at Warrick, but at the bed he so _desperately _wants to occupy.

“Jesus–I told–! I told you to stay out there, man!” 

“You w-were taking too long, a-and I…I thought… he was still…that he might’ve…” Nick whispers shakily.

A shaking finger gestures to the ceiling.

Warrick softens with a sigh, puts a hand on Nick’s shoulder, which causes Nick’s hand to fall back beside him, and cups his other hand behind Nick’s head, moves it gently so as to make eye contact with him.

“Hey, it’s over, alright? He’s locked up, he can’t watch you any more.” 

“He’s probably just jealous, you know…” Nick mutters, dropping his gaze to the floor. “Cause you’re a better friend to me than I ever could be to him.” 

Nick crumbles and falls into Warrick, who wraps him in a firm embrace, shielding Nick’s eyes from the horrors of his house.

Protecting him. 

The job, that he will never fail at again.


End file.
